Netflix has a new documentary series out called Chimp Empire which I highly recommend. It was made by James Reed who is also responsible for My Octopus Teacher—another eye-opening documentary.
Chimp Empire follows the largest naturally formed group of Chimpanzees that researchers are aware exists today. There are roughly one hundred and fifty chimps in this group, led by an Alpha male referred to as “Jackson1” in the documentary.
People who are yet to see the documentary may naturally assume that Jackson is the biggest, baddest chimp among this group and simply rules with an iron fist. This is not the case. He’s thirty-one years old, keeps close bonds with an “enforcer” (who is the biggest chimp in the group), but otherwise rules via a complex system of politics and diplomacy.
I won’t ruin the documentary, but episode one sets up the dynamic of a young, ambitious chimp named “Abrams” who’s looking to steal power from Jackson through a series of social stepping stones.
Now go watch it.
I’m bringing this all up because there is moment in the film where I noticed a parallel to the place I’m currently sitting in my writing process.
Recently I submitted my novel pitch package to the first round of literary agents on my list. For those who haven’t read previous articles, this package consists of the first three chapters, a cover letter and a synopsis.
The hard work’s done right? Time to dust off my hands, sit back with a cold drink and wait for the responses to come rolling in?
That would be nice.
I’ve got about 20,000 words to cut from my word count and a lot of rewrites to work through. If an agent requested the full manuscript today, I’d be fairly fucked.
Why have I put myself in this situation? Shouldn’t I just wait until I’ve got the manuscript perfect or near enough before sending it?
I did it for the same reasons I started this page. I wasn’t quite ready back then either. I had this “clever” plan to write a backlog of three months’ worth of short stories before I’d even think about launching this Substack page. But when an opportunity to have my work critiqued by Chuck Palahniuk (author of Fight Club) came my way, I fast tracked this plan.
The critique never came, but it got me started and the rhythm of putting out a new story every second week sped up my pace on getting them finished.
The same thing has happened with my novel.
From everything I’ve read online and heard in live agent presentations, the standard response time for a given submission is about six weeks. That’s my new clock.
Before I sent out my pitch package, I worked out exactly what I’ve got left to do on a scene by scene basis, plugged it into a calendar then pressed send on the pitch emails.
I’m way ahead of schedule, I’m averaging thirteen thousand words a week, my story’s structure has been dramatically streamlined and the pace of every scene flows degrees smoother than my most recent draft did. Funny what a bit of pressure can do for you.
So where do the chimps come in?
Well, there’s this scene in the documentary where rain is starting to pour down hard. All the apes squeal away, rushing for cover just like a woman who’s recently had her hair done and can’t afford it to go frizzy.
Abrams—the ambitious young hotshot—doesn’t do this though.
Even though he could easily join the alpha Jackson and the rest of peers without being judged, he takes another route.
He starts going mad, swinging through trees, screaming, beating his chest, making a hell of a scene. This is his way of defeating the rain. On the surface, the result is the same. He’s managed to stay warm just like all the other chimps. He’s simply taken an active approach rather than a passive one.
But it’s not the same.
Just like in Kafka’s short story The Sudden Walk which shares the name of this newsletter, by doing the unexpected, perhaps irrational thing, Abrams has found a reserve of energy that he otherwise wouldn’t have had access to. Furthermore, the other chimps take notice. If not comprehending exactly what his “rain dance” is meant to achieve, they instinctively sense wisdom in it.
A wisdom that I think is carried through from our shared ape ancestors and drives these types of “irrational” acts in humans as well.
Then again, maybe I’m reading too deeply into a monkey who felt like dancing. All the same, this sort of thing helps rationalize the weird rituals that keep me going.
I’m going to do something a bit different with the fiction post next week, so keep an eye out for my newsletter a little bit earlier in the week than usual.
